


From The Grave

by Illyrianwitchling



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, Grief/Mourning, HEA, I'm Sorry, Post-Canon Fix-It, Resurrection, Smut, The Long Night, Vaginal Fingering, bran knows, honestly Sansa deserves this, no i'm not, slight mention of braime, slight mention of gendrya, theonsa- freeform, they are sweet but filthy, this hurts my soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-08 06:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illyrianwitchling/pseuds/Illyrianwitchling
Summary: Theon Greyjoy lost his life in the Battle of Winterfell, taking the Night King with him. The realm would be safe at last. Sansa would be safe at last. His sacrifice weighs heavy on Sansa's heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is gonna hurt and I'm sorry (or am I?) This story was inspired by a youtube video I watched where they spoke of how Theon should have killed the Night King. This is an HEA so just hang in there. I promise you all it gets better. Title is also inspired by James Arthur's song "From The Grave"
> 
> As always shout out to DiligentOcelot for your beta work!!
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/160721222@N05/48981962148/in/dateposted-public/)  


** _Theon_ **

Wounding his gloved, battle worn hands on the heavy iron shaft of his spear. The dragon glass spearhead glistening from the shine of fires around him. His fingers tightened, slowly turning around the heavy metal in his grasp. Storm blue eye shifting left then right gauging all the lifeless bodies moving towards him. Each with the same goal. Yara's voice filled his mind _what is dead may never die, but kill the bastards anyway_. As Yara's voice faded, hers shined granting him with the courage he needed.

That soft, tender voice soothed him nightly since they parted many moons ago. Her words a warm blanket staving off the chill of nightmares. Fitting he supposed it would be the last voice he heard. Now surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of wights, each more soulless than the last. His heart ached knowing those words would be broken. One more betrayal before his demise. He shouldn't have sworn that. Theon's entire being filled with reckless bravery, fear, and regret. Regret for not telling Sansa the affirmations that made his existence worthwhile. The words froze on his tongue, hanging between them in night air of the Godswood. The eerie calm before a frightening storm. Yet when her gloved hand caressed his cheek and the other adrift on his battle ready breastplate. Gloved fingers briskly tracing the kraken emblazoned upon it. Her ice-blue eyes filled with the warmth of a burning fire. Features soft and dare he think, loving, for him. _Only him. _ With his arm wrapped tenderly around her waist. She stared at him as if attempting to memorize him this way. To remember each scar, the creases around his eyes and lips, the way his curls blew in the soft winter breeze. How Theon for once was calm, centered, and focused. For a fleeting moment he believed the words he longed to say, she wanted to return. However, true to a storm even the ones well prepared for, land unexpectedly. In an instant the moment of time between them ended. Sansa frantically grabbed at his forearms then cupped his face. Her nose brushed against his, her breath danced along his lips as she lightly pressed her mouth to his. Theon would treasure that flash of happiness. The softness in Sansa's winter kissed lips melted into his like the snowflakes he would catch in his hands as a boy. She touched her forehead to his whispering words forever ingrained in his mind, _Promise me Theon, promise you'll come back to me._

Like a fool he agreed. _I promise. _

Theon knew the chances of his survival were slim. He knew that stepping forward offering to protect the youngest Stark; he knew it when he promised Sansa, and he knew it now. His tongue swept across his dry lips. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, watching the wights move in around him. There was no way out where he remained breathing. Where he could love her till the end of his days, only imminent death. He would however, take out as many of these frozen bastards as he could. Body filled with iron and salt of the sea. Heart of a wolf and strength of the North in him. His boots twisted into the snow-covered dirt, steadying his grip, sweat trickling from his brow as the wights moved in for the kill. Swinging his spear swiftly and valiantly. The sharpened head of the spear piercing through ice cold bodies. Quickly as he could Theon would pull the spear out of frozen armor turning round stabbing another and another pushing through the burning ache in his arms. Spinning on his feet slaying wights behind. Hissing and snarling from the wretched men surrounded him. The stench of death weighed heavy in the air. One wight stretched out a decaying arm trying to pull the spear from his hands. Theon lost his footing falling into the scarlet and ash stained snow. When he landed the spear fell from his fingers mere inches away. Desperately he outstretched his hand to reach for it but it was to no avail as decomposing boots crowded him where he lay. Eyes wide and frantic as he looked around for anything that could help him. There was a wight hovering over him. Theon swallowed thickly scooting backwards along the snow. Dead eyes in a glowing blue stared down upon him. It's unhinged jaw and decaying teeth on full display as the being snarled at him. He wouldn't die. Not like this. It was then he saw a glint of silver gleaming from the fire torches. Planting his hands firmly into Earth gaining traction, he lifted legs kicking the creature on its back. Swiftly Theon grabbed the dragon glass sword, swinging and stabbing the remaining wights around him. He tossed the sword walking towards Bran who nodded curtly at him. Theon couldn't believe it. He'd live. He did what he promised, and he'd live. Theon would see Sansa again, he could picture the reunion so vividly. It brought a small smile to his face.

The victory, however was short lived. Suddenly Bran turned his focus on the entrance of the Weirwood. Theon's face fell as more wights appeared from the woods. Twenty? Fifty? He couldn't say. What made him still in fear was the one in the center. He was back to the start again. Theon Greyjoy versus The Night King. This is a battle he'd lose. If the Night King doesn't kill him, his followers will. Tears welled in his eyes staring down living embodiment of death. His heart caught in his throat as the realization settled in bones. Body trembling in fear and adrenaline. Seeing the spear on the ground Theon picked up. Flexing his extremities once more around it. He took one more look at Bran.

"Everything I've done…."

"Has brought you here. To where you need to be. You're a good man Theon," pausing before he continued, "Thank you."

All Theon could do was nod. He let out a shaky breath, steadying himself. Pulling the image of Sansa in his arms kissing his lips to the forefront of his mind. Gods, he'd give anything to make the moment last. If he could do this. He would rest in peace knowing she was safe and Bran protected. Twisting his blood covered boots in the stained ground, spear firmly within his grasp.

"Theon," Bran called out, "What is dead may never die."

"But rises again harder and stronger."

"Do well to remember this Theon Greyjoy," Bran smiled as if he knew something unbeknownst to Theon.

Slowly he closed eyes, taking in a long breath of life, steadying his gloved hands around the iron. His eyes met the glowing ice fire of death. Heart pounding under his ribs in anticipation. The Night King stood there waiting for Theon's move. He could have sworn the King of deaths pale blue lips twisted into a smirk directly at him. Daring the Ironborn Prince on. 

"I'm sorry Sansa," he whispered to winds of winter swirling around him. 

With a warrior's cry from deep within the bellows of his chest, Theon moved charging death head on. Sweat riddled curls swayed side to side as he ran as fast as feet would take him. Holding the spear firm against his chest plate. Flashes of Sansa comforted him with each passing step. Memories of teasing her in the grounds at Winterfell. How young and juvenile they were. Saving her from Myranda, keeping her warm during their escape, their embrace from days ago, and finally the taste of her snowflake kiss. Feelings of love and trust poured in into such a quick motion. Then he saw visions of what will never be. Sansa walking up to the base of the Weirwood tree in a gown as white as snow. To him. Their hands overlapping with a fabric bounding them as one. He saw her bright smile and her eyes glisten with wetness. Giving the appearance of sunlight dancing on the ocean waves. The fiery tresses he dreamed of were braided and pulled up into a bun. Theon reveled in the beauty of her image as he accepted his fate.

Flicking his eyes over the Night King's armor Theon saw his opening. Returning his attention to the being before him. Upon impact Theon felt a surge of hot searing pain strike through his armor into his belly. The warmth of his blood soaking his clothing, Screaming in pain as the Night King shoved the staff further into his body bringing Theon close to him. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and trickled down his lip. With a final breath he summoned his last living strength diving the spearhead into the side of death itself.

_For Winterfell_  
_For Bran_  
_For Robb_

_For Sansa_

The last thing he saw was the Night King shattering like he shot an arrow through a glass window. And then darkness as his body fell to the ground and Theon Greyjoy was no more. Bran was safe, Winterfell, the realm it was all safe thanks to him. Most importantly Sansa was safe. 

** _Sansa_ **

Collapsing onto the soot and blood caked snow, Sansa flung her arms around his lifeless frame. Her cries of heartbreak pierced through the sky like a pained wolf howling in the night. Her entire being shook as she wept over his still body. What a foolish thing she made him promise. She should have forced the three words stuck in her throat. Now he lays a dead man and her words of love will forever remain in the confines of her heart. Sansa's hands shook taking his still face in between them. Brushing tufts of curls from his pale face. Lips trembling as she kissed his cold forehead and his pale lips. Theon did it, Arya told her she was sneaking among the trees. Just as she went to jump out Theon valiantly defeated the Night King. He was a hero; he saved the realm. He saved Bran. He saved her. And yet, she would take it all back if it meant seeing him once more. To say the things that now weigh heavy on her northern heart. She wanted to lay there with him until her bones ached from the cold.

"I'm sorry Sansa, " Jon's heavy hand rested on her shoulder. She clutched onto Theon like he was her lifeline. Deep down she knew what Jon would say next, and she wasn't ready to let go, "We have to take time now set him on a pyre."

Her fingers clutched the sides of his breastplate, her disheveled ember hair whirled around her head turning to face Jon, "Collect the remaining bodies and come for him last. Let me mourn Jon," her words cut like ice to the heart, the bitterness in her tone reminiscent of how Catelyn spoke to Jon. He knew better than taking it to heart 

"Sansa…"

"You'd do well to listen Jon," Bran spoke up, "I'll stay with her," Jon nodded walking away. Bran waited until his footsteps were no longer heard the silence of the Godswood, "He died too far from the sea. Burning is not his fate. He follows the Drowned God and should go home to the oceans."

"It's too far a travel for a de- his state," shaking her head, choking back another sob, "The Iron Islands are on the other side of Westeros."

"The sea is the sea. The land matters not." 

Sansa remained quite letting Bran's words sink in. The back of her hand gracefully danced from Theon's hairline to his jaw. Her thumb grazed against the coarse stubble on his chin, kissing the tip of his nose. Eyelids shut, Theon looked peaceful in his slumber. Sansa should feel grateful that the realm is safe, and happiness that Theon wouldn't suffer anymore. No longer will he be plagued with horrid nightmares. Nor will he carry the regret of things long since past. He was finally at rest. Maybe one day she would find solace in those thoughts. In this moment Sansa was overcome with selfishness. Grief consumed her, all she wanted was him back. What cruelty the Gods bestowed upon her to bring him back and take him away. A Stark and a Greyjoy. He died a Stark perhaps Bran was right he should forever rest in the deepest oceans as his brethren. He was born of salt and Iron. That's where he should lie for eternity.

"I.." swallowing thickly holding off her cries. Though if the wetness in her eyes pooled over, she wouldn't feel it. Her cheeks were frozen and numb, stained with tears for him, "You belong in the sea," with bated breath she continued, "I will pray and think of you every day until I see you again. My heart belongs to you. In life and… death," slowly licking her lips as if it would buy her all the time in the world she turned to Bran, "I'll bring him to where the white knives meet."

Bran nodded solemnly if her decision to go surprised him he didn't show it.

She remained with Theon until Jon and two wildings approached her. The one man she has never met before, the other with his long beard and hair red as her own, Sansa recognized as Tormund Giantsbane. Jon kneeled down to her his coal eyes sympathetic. Sansa told him of her plan to bring Theon back to the sea. He saved her life twice now, and he belongs there not burning in North. To her surprise, he didn’t argue back. He agreed and told her to leave in the morning to take a few able-bodied men with her. She wasn’t sure if this was due to Jon being exhausted or because he knew the tone in her voice. That she was doing this his approval be damned. Tormund lifted Theon in his arms mentioning he will bring him to the guards hall. With her head held low Sansa followed. Her skirts drifted along the ash and debris that littered her home of Winterfell. She lacked the energy to look around at the destruction. Her heart simply couldn’t bare it not after Theon. She heard people crying, the shuffle of feet, metal scraping against metal, and the echo of her own boots as they crunched and snapped debris under her weight. 

Lost in her own remorse, she didn't realize the sounds had stopped until they were midway through the courtyard. Her bloodshot eyes lifted ever so slightly and what she saw gave her the courage to lift her head and look around. It seemed news of Theon’s self sacrifice was heard throughout already. As they walked through the crowd and debris of stone, wood, and metal everyone knelt down in a show of respect for the fallen hero, the savior of the realm. Northerners, Southrons, Ironborn, Wildlings, Unsullied, and even the few remaining Dothraki were on bended knee with their heads lowered. Her heartbeat quickened as she pulled in her bottom lip, fighting against the tears of pride she felt in that moment. Opting to solemnly acknowledge passersby for she knew if she spoke or made any other motion Sansa would break. 

When they arrived at the Guard’s Hall most of the building was intact. The sounds of their footsteps echoed within the stone halls, the fire lit torches casting shadows along the wall, as they walked past. They continued down their path until reaching a barren room. Tormund laid his lifeless body down on the featherbed. For the lively man that he was, he hardly spoke a word. Removing Theon's armor and his top clothing for Sansa. Placing the armor in a corner laying his clothes atop it. Then he simply put a strong hand on her shoulder, a mention of a handmaiden to come shortly and then he left closing the heavy door behind him. With only herself and Theon in the room, Sansa pulled a chair to the bedside. Looking over him she felt the bile in her belly stir. Scars from Ramsay faintly remained littered across his chest. Her eyes moved toward his abdomen, blood no longer a shimmering scarlet. Now it was dried and browned against his pale skin. Like broken branches in the snow. Sansa couldn't bare to look at it for more than a few seconds. How was it fair? For one to suffer and endure so much to end up this way? She then took his lifeless fingers into her own. Resting her head against his frozen frame. Tightening her grip in his hand as if she squeezed hard enough he would respond. Her body shook as the hot tears streamed down her porcelain cheeks. In the room's silence, her cries seemed louder and haunting. Like a widow mourning the loss of her late husband.

A handmaiden by the name of Alys softly knocked on the door before entering. The poor young woman appeared knackered, stains of maroon and dirt on her face and dress. She carried a bowl of water and fresh linens in setting them on a wooden table. Sansa instructed her to leave it and she'd take care of him. The woman left Sansa to begin her work. Removing her leather gloves she Took a white linen from the stack curling her fingers in between the fabric, with a shaky grasp Sansa dipped the cloth into the warm water. Tenderly she scrubbed at his face removing the filth and blood. Rubbing off the soot as if she uncovered a rare jewel from the ocean covered in grime. Her thumb traced along his lips remembering so many moons ago, where all he did was smirk and smile. The lively laugh that erupted from him when Robb told jokes. A sad smile spread across her face, that young porcelain girl from moons ago would've never believed one day she'd sit here with a still Theon begging for one more kiss of his warm lips.

They held a ceremonial pyre in front of Winterfell. Sansa stood there watching Lords and small folk alike saying goodbyes to loved ones. Physically she was there feeling the icy breeze blowing through her fiery tresses. Mentally she didn't have it in her. All morning she barely held it together. A thread coming apart at the seams. 

She wanted to be alone. To rest for her journey at the rise of dawn. Jon stood before the crowd and though his lips moved, Sansa was disjointed from it all. Staring aimlessly at the hundreds of men who laid down their lives for the good of the realm. Watching as Jon, Daenerys, and Arya picked up a torch lighting each pyre one by one. The flames danced wildly before, a symphony of vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges moving to a silent song for the dead. A prick of jealousy struck her seeing Jon comfort Daenerys, even catching that blacksmith Gendry, squeezing her sister's hand. What has she done that was so wrong? Hasn't she suffered enough in this world? True, hers wasn't the only sad song in Westeros. Arya witnessed vile, terrible things and Sansa knew she deserved love. Why not her? Theon showed up as a wave crashing onto shore and then pulling back into the vast sea water. Sansa wanted to leave the funeral and retreat to his body. She'd have less than a day left with him. As the northern folk began to leave, she turned to follow when a surprising voice stopped her.

"Lady Sansa, might I have a word," Ser Jaime spoke catching up to her.

"If you walk with me Ser Jaime. I have a place to be," her tone more harsh than intended. He offered her his arm clad in Lannister red leather, "That is unnecessary."

"I'm afraid I insist your Grace. You look rather weary after this long night," Too tired to argue Sansa slipped her arm in his returning to the Guard Hall. They were both silent for the duration of the walk. Sansa noticed Bran watching them walk. An odd smile crossed his features like he was harboring a secret only for him. 

"What is it you'd like to speak of?"

"Right," he paused, Sansa looked up at him from the corner of her eyes. Jaime appeared lost in thought as the hall came into view, "I have no intentions of returning to King's Landing."

"Oh?"

He stopped in front of the hall turning to meet Sansa's curious eyes, "Yes ...I would like to stay here in Winterfell. To help rebuild your home," Sansa watched as his eyes followed someone behind her. Turning she assessed his true reasons, Ser Brienne of Tarth, "If you'll have me."

"What did you say?" she asked whirling back around to him. Spinning so fast her head spun. The words weighed heavy on her heart, an anchor sinking into the depths of the ocean. 

_I want to fight for Winterfell Lady Sansa. If you'll have me._

Her pulse quickened and she could feel the cracks in her heart grow larger at his voice in her mind. Her ocean eyes pooling with tears. She felt like she was suffocating under his voice.

"Lady Sansa? Are you all right?"

"Yes," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper, "I require a task," Jaime stood there listening to her, "I'm taking Th..The…" she couldn't even say his name or what she needed without tears threatening to fall. Saying it aloud made it real. A vocal confirmation of what would happen come the morrow. Sansa wasn't ready to say goodbye.

She felt Jaime rest a hand on hers, "He is Ironborn and belongs to the sea. When do we leave?"

"The rise of dawn," she replied softly studying his expression. 

The man that stood before her wasn't the same Jaime Lannister she knew as a girl. No smoldering smirk, no air of authority, or the odd feeling in her to instinctively not trust him. Over the years she's learned how to see through a lie. There was none here. This man's eyes were kind and offered her sympathy. He was respectful and honorable, Sansa could tell that he was a new man. Changed, redeemed. Jaime nodded leaving Sansa to her thoughts. She watched as he made his way to Brienne and Podrick. Assisting them in lifting heavy bricks from the destruction. Noting the way he looked at her with adoration, like she was the only woman in Winterfell. A chill crept up her spine reminiscing of her fallen hero who gave the exact expression days ago. In moons time she may find this heartfelt. In Sansa's lament she found the image unsettling.

That evening they held a feast honoring the fallen folk and celebrating victory. Sansa simply didn't have it in her to celebrate. Everyone sat around tables cheering, laughing, and sloshing their goblets full of mead. Every second that passed was a second closer to letting him go permanently. She knew it was a ridiculous notion to keep Theon. He's gone and sooner than later he'd decompose with rot and stench. The thought alone made her queasy unable to stomach another bite of roasted chicken. Tracing her fork over the heavy plate sighing like a child being forced to eat. Her glossy eyes watched everyone in the room lost unto their own happiness. None of might not be here if it wasn't for Theon. The same Theon who was a prisoner of war, just a ward, who turn cloaked, who saved her, and who lost a part of himself and regained it. Sansa pulled up from her wooden chair as it scratched against the surface. Everyone looked to her as she stood tall and regal.

Clutching a pewter goblet in her palm clearing her throat, "Tonight not only are we celebrating a victory for the realm itself. We are honoring those we've lost. One man gave his life for us all," she took in a deep breathe, "With his last breath of life, Theon Greyjoy defeated the Night King. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. _I_ wouldn't be here," so many faces she knew weren't innocent gave her the courage to proceed, " The North remembers the things he's done. Whether for noble or selfish deeds none of us are innocent. We all carry faults within us. Theon was no exception. He grieved and repented for his actions," she was thankful to see people agreeing, Sandor seemed lost in thought or annoyed could be either knowing him. Jaime kept his head low, "Apart from Theon died becoming a man named Reek. Through redemption he rose again. Harder and strong. At Dawn, I will ride to where the white knives meet. We need a few able-bodied men to aide in the quick journey. If you are willing, we will meet at the South Gate," Sansa raised her Goblet high in the air, "To Theon Greyjoy, the savior of the realm."

With goblets held high the room belted out into a chorus of, " Theon Greyjoy, the savior of the realm, " for the first time that day her tears weren't from sadness, they were from joy witnessing Theon receive such praise.

Dawn arrived sooner than she hoped. She felt hollow inside as her boots crunched along the snow nearing the south gate. Each step heavier than the last. Tugging at her black fur cloak wrapping it around her. The air in the courtyard still held death as she somberly made her way through the courtyard. Looking around there was still much work to be done, buildings to be rebuilt. As she knew her heart would, Winterfell would heal in time. Sansa was nervous not knowing if anyone would show to help aside from Jaime. It stunned her to say the least arriving at the wrought-iron gate. There were at least twenty men and Ser Jaime waiting for her arrival. The gesture moved Sansa with her speech she wasn’t sure what to expect. She wanted to stop and say a few words thanking the men. The Lady of Winterfell knew if she stopped even for a minute she would break. It took all her courage to do this and the longer Sansa the more difficult it would be to leave. 

"Sansa," she turned at Bran calling her name. Arya pushing his wheelchair behind him.

"Yes?"

"What is dead may never die."

A sad smile pulled at her lips. Something in her told her to finish the phrase, "But rises again harder and stronger."

"In time a storm will rise at nightfall beyond the harbor. The waves will crash hard and strong against ships and shores. Bringing life once more. A wolf of iron will crawl onto the sand," they made no sense in her mind. She lacked the energy to mull over his words. Still she offered a smile then Arya wheeled him away.

Theon's body lay in a large wooden crate his body under a thick white blanket bound around his body with a heavy rope. She found herself relieved at that. If Sansa had to see his quiet, still face before they left she'd crumble to pieces once more. Despair already began to spread through her veins knowing it was him under there. They attached the crate to a horse that Jaime would ride to the rivers. Sansa lifted her skirts as a stablemate assisted her up to her white mare. With a shaky grasp her gloved fingers wrapped around the leather straps. A loud groan erupted from the gate as it lifted as the horses reared back then took off into a gallop. On to Theon's final destination of this world. 

Even the journey she assumed would take longer than it did. To Sansa it seemed as though the Gods were rushing to send him on his way. Or perhaps she was simply not prepared to send him on his way. Steadily she climbed off her snow colored horses. Her chest felt constricted as if both her corset and bodice were adjusted too tightly. Jaime and two other men undid the latches attaching Theon to the horse. Today, it was serene and quiet by the riverbed. Only the horses, feet crunching on the frozen grass, and they could hear the sound or a rushing river. Sunlight broke through the trees glistening on the water. Even the prominent winter winds seemed to cease for the day. Sansa thought it a beautiful day to say goodbye no matter how much it pained her to do so. The men pulled Theon down to the riverbed Sansa followed clad in a black gown embossed with swirls of gold appearing like tiny waves from her shoulders to her feet. Her black fur cloak bore a clip of golden kraken sitting above her heart. Crossing the frozen threshold to Theon, she reached over undoing the ropes one by one finally pulling the sheet away placing it at his feet. Theon was dressed all in black, his doublet and jerkin were identical to the point they looked sewn together. Squeezing her eyes to fight the tears, Sansa let out a studded breath. 

"My Lady," she felt a warm glove on her shoulder meeting the sorrowful eyes of Jaime, "We will give you a moment alone. If you will it, you may send him off alone. Should you need assistance call for one of us."

Biting her bottom lip, half nodding at him. Jaime and other men took the horses leaving her alone. Her hands vibrantly shook like a herd of cavalry charging into battle. Reaching in her cloak pulling out a direwolf pin attaching it to the front of his jerkin. Her hands resting on his chest, a foolish hope to feel a heartbeat.

"This was always meant to be yours," Sansa pulled her gloves off wanting to touch him with her hands once more. Hot tears cascaded down her cheeks like a waterfall in a hot spring. 

"I will have a statue in the crypt for you. Next to Robb," Running her fingers through his feather soft curls studying the way they moved. Her fingers traced down to his jawline moving her thumb along his stubble before caressing his cheek, with a sharp intake of breath Sansa continued, "Theon," her nose scrunched up as she sniffled in between audible sobs, mouth trembling, "I'm.." salty tears fell onto her lips as her tongue swept over, reminding her of seawater. Of him, "I'm not ready to let you go," her tone rising in pitch with every word.

Throwing herself over his cold body, she heaved, shook, and cried until her eyes stung and her chest burned. The only sounds to be heard were the comfort gurgling of the white knives and Sansa's grief. It wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. Gradually she lifted her head planting a long, slow kiss to his forehead. Feeling her tears pan down on his restful features.

"But, the Drowned God calls you home. So I must part from you until we meet again. My heart is yours in this life and the next. It will always be yours," an exasperated sigh left her lips as she pulled her gloves on. With the wheels and the icy floor it was easy for Sansa to push him into the river. The ice cold water soaked her gown and into her bones, but she didn't mind. She held his hand until the river current took him away and out to sea. Shivering in the cool water Sansa watched him float out to sea and meet the Drowned God.

** _Theon_ **

Opening his eyes to darkness. There was nothing to be seen ahead or behind him. Just pitch black for miles and miles on end. His body was free and weightless like he has floating in air. No. Water. When he swished and turned, he felt like was swimming. Theon looked above believing if he truly was under water, he'd see waves or the twinkle of starlight in the sky. But there was nothing. No movements, no sky, no fish. Was this even a sea? Stretching his arms in front of his body moving them in swift strokes while kicking his legs. He could move about like it was the ocean, but it didn't feel right. There was no current only stillness. Even if there were no stars in the sky the water shouldn't be this black. He was moving he knew that, but to where was anyone's guess. He opened his mouth to speak yet no words came out.

A loud jubilant laughter erupted through this...well whatever this was, "You are interesting young Greyjoy," Theon furrowed his boys twisting left then right. Trying to locate the source, "You can try to find me boy. It will prove to be frivolous. What do you remember?"

_Remember,_ he questioned, _remember what?_

"Let me show you."

In front of Theon, his final moments of life flashed before him. Watching himself pick up the spear. Face full of determination and acceptance of his fate. With a thunderous cry the other Theon ran towards the Night King. He kept his eyes focused as the frozen king of death stabbed him. Theon returned the action as the realm's enemy shattered into oblivion. Then he collapsed to the floor, his body went still. The vision went black.

"The Gods agreed you have done an honorable act. More honorable than most Ironborn who have come this way. You saved human kind, Theon Greyjoy. You paid a price in full and then some."

The flashes came back, but these were post his demise. His eyes grew wide, his mouth slack jawed at the vision. He could feel the sting in his eyes as wetness filled them. Her red hair fell against his armor. A pool of red leaves on the autumn ground. He watched her shoulders shake rapidly it took but a moment to realize she was crying. His mouth moved to the word of Sansa. Her fingers curled around his tuft of curls, she kissed his still body. Theon knew if his heart was beating it would be shattered. The vision twisted replaced with a new one. He watched her take a linen remove the grime of battle off his still face. The vision changed three more times. At a celebratory feast, where she honored him. In the middle of the night, alone in her chambers weeping in the confines of her feather bed. Finally he saw himself on a crate or a cot it didn't matter. What mattered was Sansa, dressed in Greyjoy colors standing at the edge of the riverbed. Looking at his body for a miracle. As if he would jump up and into her arms. Then she spoke the words that made him want to curl in on himself. That made him regret his decision fully. I'm not ready to let you go.

_What have I done_

"What was necessary for the realm," The voice boomed. Though Theon could not speak, the voice could hear his inner thoughts, "Do you know who I am?"

_The Drowned God_

The voice laughed, "Wise one you are. You know what I can do."

_I've heard tales. Why me?_

"I was too soon to judge it seems. Theon, the world should bow to you for what you've done."

_You’re wrong. I didn't do it for the world. I did it…_

"For her, yes. You were not thinking the world. Still. Your love for that woman gave you the courage to do what was necessary."

_And all the things I've done. I.. I don't deserve it._

"Ah. But, you do. Time and Time again you've shown what is to be Ironborn. To die and to rise. To become harder and stronger. You may fall but never for long. Are you ready to let her go?"

Theon wanted to say yes to prove he was where he should be. He knew the faceless sea god would see right through. He answered honestly, _no._

"Then so be it," with a loud snap the dark room was enshrouded with a bright white light, so blinding Theon had to cover his eyes.

Suddenly he felt the waves and undercurrents rushing in between his body. He kicked his feet swimming upwards breaking through the watery surface, taking in a breath of ocean air. Basking in the sun rays bursting through grey storm clouds high in the sky. He could feel everything, his heart beat, droplets of water falling to his mouth, tasting of salt on his lips, dampness of his hair. Pushing through the waves, stroke after stroke, til he reached the sandy shore. His fingers dug into the coarse, soft ground. He realized all his extremities were back. Lifting his hand from the ground confirmed it. The fingers, the nails any bit that Ramsay touched were fully healed. Though he could see faint scaring his body was his fully intact now.

"Son. Are you all right?" An older man with a graying beard and a concerned expression ran towards him.

"Where am I?" he asked his voice rough and raspy.

"White Harbor."

"I need to get to Winterfell."

** _Sansa_ **

It was lonely being Queen. As the days wore on, one by one people were leaving. After the death of Daenerys Targaryen, Jon went behind the wall to be with the Wildings. Where he could simply be free. Bran, named King of Westeros now resided in King's Landing. Even Brienne was readying to leave with Jamie returning to her homeland of Tarth. They wouldn't leave until the wedding of newly appointed Lord Gendry and his soon to be Lady of Storm's End, Arya. Sansa knew they would do well ruling together. They were a perfect match. Everyone began to move on except for her. Physically she moved forward, mentally her thoughts were on him. When she sat in her throne delegating and performing her Queenly duties Sansa always looked to her left imagining what it would be like to have Theon there.

Her handmaiden helped dress her in a dusty blue gown, almost grey in tone. Embroidered black swirls with from the hem of her skirt down to the bottom. Her armored bodice born from Theon's iron breastplate formed tightly to her chest. Securing her heart in a cage for him. She loved the small detailing in between the metal pieces. From different angles it could give off the appearance of weirwood leaves, thorns, or waves. Each something she holds dear. Her ember tresses were braided neatly into a long braid she wore over her shoulder. Finally, the Handmaiden placed Sansa's silver crown atop her head and her fur cloak on her shoulders. She thanked the girl as Sansa stood in the mirror, her fingers delicately running along the bodice. Turning with a swish of the heavy fabrics she left her chambers to start the day.

Every morning after she broke her fast, Sansa made it down to the Godswood. Today was no exception. As the days wore on the grieving was easier wandering throughout the castle and surrounding grounds of her home. Until she reached here, before the weirwood tree. Sansa could envision his body still against the pristine snow. The haunting face on the bark of the tree. Red Sap oozing from hollow eyes. Before she knelt in front of the ancient tree, Sansa heard the heavy footfall behind her. Boots pressing into the snow, they were slow steps, like someone approaching cautiously. Afraid to disturb her during prayer. She nearly fainted when she turned meeting the man who stood there frozen. Captivated by her northern beauty. The shimmering glint of wetness in her crystalline eyes, how her brows raised in shock then pressed into confusion. A faint pink hue dusted her cheeks from the winter chill matching her parted lips. 

"How?" 

He stood in the same garments they clothed him in when the waters took him. His tuft of sea breeze curls hung around his face. Eyes were alive, full of adoration for her. A grin formed across his face shifting his stance. By the Gods, he was moving. From head to toe he was moving.

"The Drowned God." 

Then It hit her. like a sudden snow storm, Bran's words before she sent Theon's body away. It made no sense in her time of grief. Now with him standing. Breathing. She knew it was a prophecy. That Bran told her, he would return. Hastily Sansa picked up the hems of her skirt running as fast her body would move. Throwing her arms around his neck crashing into him with enough force Theon had to catch himself. He was solid and warm in her embrace. Theon pulled her close holding her like he would never let her go. Inhaling her natural scent of lemons and lavender. Sansa pulled away briefly to rest her forehead against his. Her hands switching between cradling his face and resting on his chest. Feeling his heartbeat underneath her palm. Happy tears streamed down her cheeks as she chuckled in disbelief. For once, a bright smile she didn’t have to force, crossed her features. There was so much to catch Theon up with. That could wait. For now, it was her and him. Sansa wanted nothing more than to show him just how much she’s yearned for his touch.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” she pulled him by his jerkin, bruising her lips against him. Lost in the warmth of his touch. He did the unimaginable, the unthinkable. Theon came back to her, crawling from the depths of the ocean to Sansa


	2. The Softness In Our Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight, Theon decided that he wouldn't falter. He would show Sansa every fragment of him was real. He was determined to take her fears far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/160721222@N05/49079096811/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Hiii! Sorry this took forever, I've been going through some real life things and it became derailed. Anyway, enough about me. Have some smut and enjoy!   
Thank you diligentocelot for your beta work!

Sansa jumped up in her featherbed. Beads of perspiration trickling from her brow, wetness in her cerulean eyes. Her chest rising and falling rapidly as her breathing sped up then started to slow. She studied the still body next to her. Eyes grew wide with dread. Sansa outstretched a hand brushing his darkened curls from his face. Watching intently until he started to move under the furs. Slowly his eyes flickered open meeting her distressed gaze with a slight glimmer in them. Theon cupped her cheek Sansa leaned into his touch overlapping his hand with hers. Her wild scarlet hair tumbled past her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with her porcelain skin. Like the crimson leaves of the Weirwood tree dangling from the snow white branches. Groggily he sat pulling Sansa into his embrace. She relaxed against his bare chest listening to the low murmur of his pulse. Pressing a kiss to her temple while his fingers trailed up and down her arm. 

"Again?" He asked his tone of voice heavy with sleep. She nodded against his scarred chest, "Sansa look at me," she turned facing Theon. His features were soft, full of concern, "I am here. I'm not going anywhere. The Drowned God...it's been centuries since he deemed someone worthy to return. I'm not leaving. I swear it."

Her Iron born love has returned for the better part of two months. To this day, Sansa still had nightmares of when she lost him. Worrying her that maybe this was just a dream. One day she'd wake to find Theon by her side no more. Every time Sansa does he draws her in his slender arms whispering words of comfort in her ears. He knows how unlikely it is for the Drowned God to bring back an individual. 

"I realize these nightmares will pass. When I'm there, it seems real. _Too real_."

"Unless you wish me away. Here is where I'll remain," holding her face within his palms, the padding of his thumb running lightly along her cheekbone.

Pulling Sansa’s face close to his, she could feel his heated breath against her mouth, "I'd never," his lips graced hers like the tenderest of breezes. A current that grows into a fierce gust of wind as his kiss turned firm and more intense. 

Sansa snaked her hand around him, tugging at the darkened tuft of curls resting at the nape of his neck. Her breath hitched groaning against his mouth, like a ravenous wolf, pulling him down to the featherbed. Theon delved between her parted lips sucking at her tongue she moaned wantonly craving more of him. His tongue swirling in her mouth, a frenzied dance of teeth and tongue. Her palms drifted up into his locks tugging at the strands, deepening the kiss. By Theon’s gentle caress on her silky skin comforted her and his hungry kiss Sansa’s mind went dizzy in the most sensual way.The way her pulse accelerated when his mouth traveled from hers and down to her throat. Sucking, biting, and licking at her collar. Turning the ivory glow of her skin into a purplish hue. Sansa thanked the Gods they were in the north and they could conceal her love bites from the public view. Theon's hands shakily moved down to her breasts, dragging down the delicate fabric of her shift dress. No dream could touch her this way. This was real, she realized that. 

It wasn't the first time they shared heated kisses. Since Theon's return however their intimate life had been slow going. Sansa's painful experiences left her scarred for a bit. As the days carried on her fears dispersed within in Theon's tender caress. It was Theon who suffered the most. Every time her hands slid gingerly down his torso resting at the band of his britches, he froze. Recalling in his mind when he first lost his manhood. Myranda and that other bitch, Violet he thinks, shrieking with glee as Ramsay took the gelding knife. The echoes of Theon's pleas reverberated in his thoughts. Though he was blessed and grateful the Drowned God rewarded him the kindness of returning it. It didn't take the memory away. He felt less of a man now, then he did with no cock. Sansa… Gods he didn't deserve her patience in the matter. Every time she caressed his face, brushed the hair from his eyes, and gave him a chaste kiss telling him it's all right, guilt would consume him. Shaking his head not tonight, no. Tonight, Theon decided that he wouldn't falter. He would show Sansa every fragment of him was real. He was determined to take her fears far away. She's been patient and earnest with him. Theon would return the favor.

Palming at her breasts while rolling her rose pink nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Curling his fingers into her soft tissue, Sansa gasped and moaned feeling his tongue trail down her neck to her breast. Sansa took the moment reaching for the hem of her gown, hauling it up over head discarding it to the floor. His lust filled eyes shifted to a dark sea green as Theon drank in the sight before him. Sansa met his gaze. Her eyes now a deep blue like the sea at night. Her cheeks glowed a rosy hue, lips plump, a pathway of kisses decorated her neckline, and her breasts hung naturally with light pink marks on ivory flesh were his nails dug in. She was a heavenly beauty marked by passion. 

Lazily his fingers traced over her slender figure. From her hairline down to her hips. Paying extra attention to the scars on her womanly shape. Sansa's body wasn't riddled with nearly as many as his own. Still hers carried a harrowing story. There was a narrow scar on her throat he kissed affectionately. The rest were all faint lines from when Ramsay had his way. With the padding of his thumb Theon traced each line. Like he was moving along a map searching for the perfect destination. He found it. Sansa had one mark worse than the others and it lay above her hip bone. It was a discipline for her speaking to Theon and pleading for his aid so many moons ago. He recalled it like it was yesterday. Ramsay calling him to Sansa's chambers pushing her to the bed and hoisting her skirts, slashing at her skin where no one. Not even Lord Bolton would know. After Ramsay left, Theon grabbed a cloth and temperate water from the basin attending to her wound as Sansa cried. 

"Theon?" he glimpsed at her, Sansa's eyes wide with apprehension, "We don't have to proceed. If you're not…" cutting her off Theon fisted a hand in her fiery tresses, pouring his passion onto her lips. 

Moving down to kiss her scarred flesh, "I should have killed the..," Theon murmured against her flesh, "bastard when he did this," maintaining his path along her mark, "pushed him...", hooded eyes finding hers, hooking his index fingers over her underclothes "picked up the knife.." removing them slowly off her legs and tossing the unwanted fabric behind him. 

Flexing his fingers before smoothly gliding them up her satiny skin to the apex between her thighs. Taking her comely breast in his hot mouth. Flicking his tongue against her pebbled nipple. Simultaneously running his fingers over her clit feeling her slick arousal. Eliciting a complacent moan from her parted lips. Sansa's nails raked along his scalp gripping at his hair, arching her hips to meet his wicked hands. Lightly Theon pushed a finger into her heat, curving his finger and stroking her inner walls. While his thumb ran swift ministrations on her clit. Sansa's hips rolled against his hand as he drove another finger into her. She dropped her hand down to his shoulders, throwing her head back into the feather pillow. He shifted from breast to breast, sucking and biting listening to her pants grow higher and sharper with each touch. His hardened member strained against his britches begging for release as Sansa squirmed and writhed below him. Her palms glided down his torso and to the lacing of his britches. A pool of intensity in her abdomen started to extend throughout her body. She craved. No. Needed more. With the tightening of her walls clenching around his fingers Theon could tell she was close. With a slick, wet pop he came off her breasts, removing his fingers out of her. Sansa whined at the loss of contact. 

Wrapping a firm arm round her waist Theon switched their positions. Sliding his palms up over her thighs cupping her arse pulling her to him as she rested on his face. Knowing Sansa was close he didn't waste a minute. His nose pressed into her clit inhaling her heady arousal. In swift, deep strokes his tongue flicked against her aching womanhood. Sansa's moans echoed in the silent room as Theon licked at her bud like a man starved. Sucking at her juices savoring the taste like it was his last feast. Her nails raked through his sweaty curls while her hips moved in a circular motion as she fucked his face. Taking one quick glance at his she wolf, Theon would never forget the view. Breasts bouncing wildly, chest rising and falling with her climax rapidly nearing. Sansa biting down on her bottom lip so it hard, it paled. In between ragged gasps, mewled moans escaping her lip, Sansa tossed her head back. Eyes shut tight as her wild tresses framed her face. The way Sansa moved riding his mouth was alluring. A goddess sitting atop him. No. A siren and if she led Theon to his death again, he would die happily. He could sense her thighs beginning to quake around his head. Instinctively Theon grasped her ass pressing her cunt further onto his mouth. Thrusting his tongue into her entrance, lapping and sucking at her sensitive bud. it wasn't long before her thighs shook with intensity on the sides of his face.

Sansa felt her toes curl, her hips tremble, and a rush of warmth pooling from her belly. The sensation flowed through her body like wildfire. Theon's wicked tongue licking at her core, his nose running ministrations on her clit, and his mouth sucking at her arousal. Sansa came apart at the seams like a spring tightly coiled and then being released. Her vision blurred as she dissolved into pleasure, losing herself to a state of sublime bliss. Calling out his name like Theon was her liberation. He continued to please her until the grip on his curls lessened.

"Gods," she breathed collapsing onto their featherbed. 

Theon hovered over her, kissing her with a lustful need. Sansa could taste herself on his lips, "We're not done yet," he breathed hot and rough against her mouth. Sansa could feel his hardened length against her thigh while he tugged at the lacing of his trousers, kicking off the clothing to the floor. Quickly Sansa sat up reaching for his hand. 

"Allow me."

Taking his member in her soft hands she began to stroke him. Slowly at first, his hips bucked in response. Theon hissed at her approach, Sansa looked at him with concern until he nodded for her to go on. Still she observed for any uncertainty. This was the farthest they have been and Sansa wanted him to enjoy it without the fears of his past to disturb their time of passion. The Drowned God may have brought him back intact, the scars remained. Moving her palms in long and rapid strokes around his shaft she noticed at the base was a faint scar from where Ramsay took his manhood. Sansa leaned down to peck the battered flesh. The padding of her thumb ran along the tip of his sensitive head, glistening with pre-come. With the opposite hand she forced him back on the bed straddling his hips as she did so. Theon's face contorted in a blend of pleasure and anguish. Sansa knew he was desperately trying to fight the memories in his mind. She decided on a new tactic to ease him. 

"Tell me love," she spoke proactively, lifting her body over his, rubbing her entrance with his cock, "If you took that knife.." gradually settling down on him both of them moaning at the contact. Sansa stilled for a moment adjusting to his length. She reached for his hands taking them to her supple breasts. He clutched her soft tissue, rolling her nipples in his fingers as they pebbled to his touch. While Sansa swirled her hips against him, "I want you to tell me how you'd do it."

Her body moved over his like she was riding a horse into battle. Hands splayed across his chest, peppered with faint tracks of his past. Her fingers danced along each one like she was carefully selecting the perfect fabric. Feeling the contrast of hard skin versus smooth, arching her body to kiss each scar. Theon's hands drifted down her feminine frame grasping at her waist muttering out a _fuck_ as she bounced on his cock. Sansa left heated kisses up his slim torso to his neck, sucking and biting up to his jawline before seizing his lips in a fierce desire. Her tongue ran over his lips before tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth. Theon's hands glided over her back into her hair. Tugging at the strands, Sansa delved her tongue in his mouth. He sighed against her swirling their tongues around each other in a dance. Sansa squealed when suddenly his arms tightened around her waist flipping their positions. Instinctively her legs draped over his as he thrust deep into her. 

His body flush against hers kissing her sweaty brow, "You want to know?" he questioned in a husky voice, peppering kisses to her throat.

"Yes," she urged.

Theon pulled away to gaze longingly in her lust filled eyes. Gods, there was no moment as euphoric as this. Watching Sansa blissfully come undone. And knowing he was the source of her pleasure. It was enough for him to spill inside her. Seven hells he knew he was close as balls tightened. Feeling her inner walls clenching around him, Theon knew she was close to her climax again. His hips snapped against her own. 

"I'd grab him like this," roughly he pulled at her ember hair arching her head up. Her nails dug into his slick shoulders like she was holding onto for dear life.

“Take his knife…" he nipped at her jawline like a wolf, "Stab him over and over like this," teeth grazing her flesh. Sansa groaned at his actions, "Let him fall to the floor."

The heady scent of arousal and the sounds of pleasurable moans filled the chambers. Theon felt her hips shook underneath him as he sped his rhythm. Their breaths rising in pitch, he reached for her hand, threading his fingers in between hers. Lifting their hands above her, Like a halo. Again she called his name like a prayer, with a low guttural moan he stilled filling her with his seed. 

Theon collapsed resting on her chest. As his breaths slowly returned to normal. Sansa's fingers twirled in his sweaty curls. Theon placed a quick peck on her sternum tasting the saltiness on her flesh when he pulled out of her, he slid off the bed. Crossing the room, he grabbed a cloth, dipping it into a basin of water, turning back to make his way to Sansa. She yawned, watching him with heavy eyes as Theon gently dabbed the cloth in between her thighs.

"Talking of murdering a dead man gets your cunt wet?" He quipped, a boyish smirk crossed his features as he wiped away their combined juices from her cunt.

For a moment, it took Sansa back to when they were just children in Winterfell. Their biggest worries were Arya causing havoc or a fear of hideous fabrics. She laughed at him. Gods, he'd never tire of that sound. The creases of her eyes twinkled and her face glowed like the brightest star. Her honeyed laughter made his pace quicken and his heart thunder so loudly, Theon swore it would burst through his chest. What made it more intimate was she laughed for him. Only for him. 

"I wouldn't say that. I'm sure it had everything to do with the man speaking and pleasing me," she smirked in response. Then her tone turned serious Sansa coiled her fingers round the furs kicked to the side during their love making, "I know you've been plagued with visions as much as I. I know it has become a burden on us being _together,_" licking her lips before continuing, "I acted brash and thought of turning your demons against themselves. Killing them."

He looked up at her, peering in thought, "In the midst of fucking, you thought of this?" Sansa nodded. Theon shook his head in disbelief.

"It worked."

"Aye, my lady. It did," tossing the cloth aside Theon laid next to her. Sansa snuggled up to him. Her finger lazily dancing on his chest as she locked eyes with her love. He reached out brushing away strands of hair from her face, " Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. I pledged to love and care for you. I am yours Theon."

"And you are mine," capturing her lips in a heated kiss. His hand roamed over her body resting on her stomach, "Do you think your nightmares will settle now?" he questioned, "If I put a babe in your belly just now. Would that be real enough? No dream can do that. I assure you. "

"Mmm perhaps," she replied with a teasing smile etched across her northern features. 

"Perhaps?" his brows pressed together in confusion, "My Queen,” he grinned, “I hope you hadn't planned on resting tonight. I'm going to.." he kissed her, "Spill my seed in you. Again and again. Until there is a babe and you know I am no dream."

"Then hush my lord and prove it."

.

**Author's Note:**

> And he's back and in full working order *insert smirking emoji here*  
After all the tears shed I think Sansa deserves a good shag. Don't you? So a second chapter with zero angst and full on smut will be up soon!!


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